


Dreamscape

by thornsilver



Category: Weiss Kreuz.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornsilver/pseuds/thornsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schuldig is bored. And unfamiliar with the idea of privacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamscape

**Author's Note:**

> This has turned out entirely too lyrical.

Fandom: Weiss Kreuz.  
Rating: R.  


DREAMSCAPE

Schuldig was bored. That wasn't unusual, since he had a personality that lost interest in things easily. Unfortunately, this time his usual tension releasers were not present. Crawford, who was always good for some laughs (if one appropriately applied himself) was gone, propitiating their European masters with predictions and empty promises. What's worse, he took Farfarello with him, inspired by foresight, and, undoubtedly, bitter experiences of leaving his telepath and his berserker to amuse themselves without his benign supervision.

The German gave a consideration to poking Nagi, but the boy had no sense of humor and a vile tendency to turn to violence when feeling even marginally threatened. He wasn't in the mood to be thrown into walls tonight.

Schuldig could go to a club, but the relenting downpour outside left him unwilling to forgo the warmth and, most importantly, dryness of the apartment. His life taught him to appreciate creature comforts, if and when available.

But there was one other thing he wanted to try the next time boredom hit.

Schuldig stretched out on his back on the nice soft bed and closed his eyes, letting himself reach towards a familiar mind. Abyssinian was asleep, his subconscious naked to Schuldig's curiosity for once. He centered himself briefly, making sure that he wasn't noticed, before starting his slow walk though Aya's psyche.

He wandered though the half-expressed thoughts and memories, catching impressions of smiles and flowers, pain and determination, denial and guilt. During waking hours, the Japanese assassin's natural shields were too strong to show anything but surface thoughts and emotions. Schuldig wallowed in rare intimacy.

Finally, deep within the psyche, he found himself facing the actual dream that drew in the Abyssinian's self.

The room had no walls, only the floor, covered with still-warm blood, and the blackness beyond. In the middle, bathed in ridiculously red light, knelt a familiar figure. Naked to the waist, Yohji Kudou was bound with his own wire, his secured hands behind him, his torso encircled with cuttingly sharp loops. He was covered in flesh blood too, soaked in it, as if someone had upended a bucked over his head.

He wasn't watching the silent figure that stood in front of him.

Abyssinian, in contrast, was dressed in his full mission gear, though his longcoat was unbuttoned. He held the sheathed katana in his right hand.

As Schuldig maneuvered for a better viewpoint, Aya thrust the blade though the kneeling man's heart. The telepath had a perfect view of the blond's mouth opening in a sudden exhalation, and then the dream shuttered in the blackness of waking.

Disoriented, Schuldig watched the ceiling for a while, playing with his pajama pants drawstring, before smirking and putting his hand inside. He was hard, and his skin still tingled from the cocktail of denial, lust, and violence. As far as nightly entertainment went, this wasn't half-bad. In fact, he was making plans to visit more often.

 


End file.
